


Romantic Repayment

by vihistoo



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Candles, Dancing, F/M, Romance, fluffin it up, hoping it's not ooc, i havent slept for days, literally just straight up fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 16:01:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4570653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vihistoo/pseuds/vihistoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes, it seems, is a romantic at heart. Yes, he still runs off when a case calls; yes, he still unthinkingly insults her; and yes, he still throws himself into a strop when he doesn't get what he wants - although, these days, that seems to be Molly most of the time.</p><p>But, some days he will stare deeply into her eyes and, in some grand gesture of romance, proclaim his love for her, at seemingly random times. For example: when she is doing the laundry, filling out paperwork, taking a shower, or basically any time she is not prepared. So there's that. And the fact that she is too shocked to react is only part of the problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Romantic Repayment

**Author's Note:**

> its three o'clock. i am so tired. i finished this earlier today - yesterday, i mean. so, because the universe seems to genuinely hate me, i am posting this now. also, sorry if the summary makes no bloody sense. as previously stated, i am so tired. i will revisit this when i wake up, and edit if appropriate. if i ever fall asleep, that is.
> 
> \- v - 
> 
> p.s. wish me luck.

_Love me tender,_

_Love me sweet,_

_Never let me go._

_You have made my life complete,_

_And I love you so._

**_-Elvis Presley, "Love Me Tender" -_ **

 

 

She loves Sherlock Holmes, and she loves dating Sherlock Holmes. She knew the moment they started this entire affair that they would never be a normal couple in a normal relationship, but she was okay with that, because, as previously stated, she loves him.

Her boyfriend - _Parter, Molly, partner. I'm no boy_ \- has no trouble showing affection. He will hug and cuddle and kiss her, hold her hand and wrap his arm around her waist. Affection is nothing difficult for Sherlock, as surprising as that is. There seems to be no thought in his actions. He simply reaches out for her as if she would always be within hands reach. It's quite endearing. When he's talking with someone or they're walking down the streets, his hand will slide into hers or loop around her middle like he's memorised the actions so they require no planning or thought. To be honest, she's quite thankful Sherlock's hands seek her with so much ease. Molly has always been too nervous to initiate touch. When it comes to romantic or sexual actions, she's much more a follower than a leader.

However...his affection comes at unexpected times that often catch her off guard and give her no time to reciprocate or even react.

Take for instance, five days ago.

_They were both in the kitchen, Molly flushing slightly under Sherlock's intense gaze as he watched her from his spot at the dining table. When she handed him his plate, loaded with a steaming square of Shepard's pie, his hand caught hers, and he had gently tugged her arm until she settled in his lap. Molly looked down on him curiously, but complied, relaxing in his hold and wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders. Sherlock's pale eyes stared into hers, and a sweetly boyish smile curled his lip. She saw his hand rise and felt it cup her cheek seconds later. Molly leaned into his touch, curling her free hand over his and humming contentedly, basking in his presence and attention._

_"Molly," Sherlock said lowly, and she opened her eyes, smile fading as she saw his solemn face. He rubbed his thumb over her cheek, and she had kissed it chastely when he traced the shape of her lips. "I love you," he announced. Molly's heart gave a pleasurably painful clench, and she sighed. Sherlock didn't say it often and it caused her no grievance, but she still savoured the words every time they dripped from his lips like warm honey though her veins._

_"I love you too," she replied. "Always."_

_Sherlock's sweet grin reappeared, but otherwise, he acted as if she hadn't spoken at all, still staring at her with those searching, inquisitive eyes. "I love you, Molly. You're beautiful. I like your hair. It's soft, and when you leave it down I'm always pleased because it means I'll have the opportunity to run my fingers through it. The colour is appealing, as well. When it catches the sunlight, strands of gold and mahogany and red mix like a tapestry, all over the brown that's a touch lighter than your eyes." As he spoke, he twirled a strand of her hair around his fingers, brushing it away from her face to tuck it behind her ear. "And oh, but I'm very fond of your eyes, Molly. So expressive and deep. So lovely. Do you know what a marmoset it, love? They're small creatures, just big enough to fit in your hand, and they have the darkest brown eyes. You're my little marmoset, all big brown eyes staring at me from your sweet face with it's cute little upturned nose. And, like Finger Monkeys, you're absolutely tiny. So slim, and short. I must say, my dear, that although I value intellect above all else, how Lilliputian you are in my arms appeals to something positively atavistic in me." Sherlock squeezed her, lining up their fingers so she could see how large his hand was compared to hers."And on the topic of intellect Molly, when you talk science with me it's like you mean to deliberately tease me. You are possessing of a great mind. The youngest and brightest pathologist at Bart's and the whole of London, someone magazines come calling to when they hear of your research and essays. I've read them all, my own, all of the articles your brilliance has engendered." His hand returned to cup her cheek, and he brushed away the tear that had dripped down her skin. "I love you, Molly, every bit and piece of you. I do."_

_Her back was as stiff as a plank. Her face was stuck in an expression of shock, mouth hanging open, and she blinked in rapid succession to clear her eyes of their gathering wetness. Sherlock's eyes crinkled at their corners, and he had leant forward slowly to press a gentle kiss at the corner of her mouth, an act of tenderness that shook Molly out of her astonishment slightly._

_"I - I - " she tried, but he kissed her again, lovingly cradling the side of her face with his warm palm and delicately sucking on her bottom lip. When they had broke apart, he picked up his fork and scooped up a bite of the Shepherd's pie, holding it out to her. Molly accepted it and chewed absent-mindedly, her gaze still fixed on Sherlock. Dinner passed with Sherlock feeding her small bites, keeping her perched on his lap with an arm around her waist and a hand curled around her hip._

_Molly had tried to speak again when he moved her to put the plate in the dishwasher, but Sherlock silenced her again with a soft kiss, holding her chin and skimming his fingers over it when he drew away. When the plate and fork were both put away and he had wrapped the rest of their dinner up and set it in the fridge, Sherlock turned to her, leaning against the counter._

_Focussing on his face, Molly had realised he was waiting for her to speak. The chair scraped across the floor as she ran to him, and Sherlock grunted when she slammed into the hard wall of his body._

_"I love you, too, Sherlock. God, do I love you. With everything I am and with everything I'll ever be do I love you," she breathed, standing on tip toes to bury her face in the soft place under his collar bone, tightly winding her arms around his torso. Sherlock responded in kind, bending down to hook his hands under Molly's bum to pick her up. When she secured her legs around him he took them to the bedroom. They made love, and it was soft and sweet and heart-wrenchingly tender. His cry of ecstasy was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard; no chorus of angels could compete. Sherlock pressed every inch of himself against her when they curled up in the middle of the bed, and Molly drifted off to sleep counting his breaths._

_The next morning had called him to a case, and he sprinted out the door, doubling back to kiss her soundly before tearing off down the stairs, promising to text her updates over the loud thuds of his footsteps._

Sherlock was with John in Yorkshire ever since that day, so she, Mary, and Mrs Hudson keep each other company in the temporarily peaceful flat building.

After work, Molly throws on one of Sherlock's dressing gowns, feeds Toby, and then cuddles with him on the couch while they watch re-runs of Star Trek: The Next Generation. She is off the next day, so when midnight comes she lets it pass. She still likes to get a full night's sleep, so she turns off the lamps and telly when the first episode she'd watched begins to play again. After her nightly routine, Molly sets herself up in the middle of their bed, reading The Tempest until she begins to yawn and her eyes start to slide close. When she hugs Sherlock's pillow close, a sharp pang of sadness hits her. She misses him. It's been five days without nothing but words sent between them, and although she knows his voice well enough to think about how they'd sound in his baritone, she misses his warmth and his eyes and the way he fits against her, as if they were one being instead of two. Molly pushes away the feeling below her sternum, because she knows he'll be home soon, safe and sound. Falling asleep takes time without his breaths to lull her, and as she eventually slides into oblivion, she can almost convince herself the bed doesn't feel empty.

**_________________________________**

The bed's shaking - wait, no - she's shaking. Molly opens her eyes just as she registers the warmth of a hand on her shoulder, and there is panicky confusion for a split second before a deep voice whispers into her ear.

"Molly, I'm home."

She relaxes into the mattress, smiling softly. Retracting her hand from beneath the warmth of the duvet, she finds his and winds their fingers together.

"Come to bed," she says - or tries to. She's never quite sure how coherent she is when half-asleep.

"Later," comes the reply. "I want to show you something."

She protests slightly - it's warm and cosy and she's sleepy - but his strong hands draw her up gently and cradle her to his chest as he stands. Molly leans against him, revelling in the sound of his heartbeat and the smell of his skin. Sherlock gently runs his hands up and down her back, and combined with the feel of his body against hers, she's fading fast. When he notices she's gone too lax he steps back slightly, and Molly grumbles as she's forced to set her full weight on her feet. She rubs at her eyes, and when she withdraws her hands she sees Sherlock's grin catch in the moonlight before his fingers tangle with hers and he begins to pull her out of the room.

All the lights are off, but as they pass through the hall and into the kitchen, she immediately recognises the lambent glow lighting the living room as fire. Wood crackles in the fireplace, and candles sit on every flat surface.

"Sherlock, what is - " she breathes, bringing a hand to her chest in reflex. His finger sets on her lips, shushing her before removing his suit jacket and throwing it over the back of his chair. Molly only notices the record player when he walks to it and lowers the needle slowly, setting it precisely on the centre of the record. The tune spins out, and Elvis begins to croon as he slides an arm around her waist, catching her hand in his. Sherlock sways them gently, only moving his feet when Molly curls her hand over his shoulder.

It's unbearably sweet, and as Molly rests her cheek against Sherlock's shoulder, she thanks every god she's ever heard of for this moment: she in her knickers and one of his t-shirts, he in the aubergine shirt he knows she likes, leading her around the room in small steps and circles, holding her close like she's something precious.

Just as Molly thinks nothing could make this any better, Sherlock begins to sing to her.

 _"Love me tender, love me long, take me to your heart,"_ he serenades. _"For it's there that I belong, and we'll never part."_

His voice is low, and harmonious, washing over her like thick syrup, giving her heart a kick-start as it ramps up at the feeling of his breath washing over her ear.

 _"Love me tender, love me true, all my dreams fulfilled. For my darlin', I love you, and I always will,"_ Sherlock carols.

By the time the song is reaching it's end, they have returned to the centre of the room, and Sherlock is holding her close as they sway, still singing the words to her in his deep, soothing voice. Guilt begins to pool in her stomach, a feeling she tries to push away so she can stay in this point in time, but tears leak out of the corner of her eye, and Sherlock takes notice. The needle skips off the record as Sherlock lifts her head.

"You're crying, Molly. Why are you crying?" Sherlock's brow furrows before anxiety makes his eyes wide. "Was this Not Good?"

"No," she answers instantly, cupping his cheek. "This was good. More than good. More than wonderful or romantic or lovely or any other synonym."

"But...?" he questions, taking her hand from his face and kissing her fingertips.

"I - " she starts, looking down briefly to gather her thoughts before meeting his gaze. "You don't have to keep doing this, Sherlock. I know you love me. You don't have to go out of your way and take the time to plan these things. I don't need them, it's okay, you don't have to keep proving your feelings to me."

Sherlock is silent for a moment, head tipped low. His eyes don't meet hers when he speaks. "I thought..." he mutters."I thought you liked these. I thought..."

 _Oh no_ , she thinks. _Oh no, oh no, oh no. I've hurt him._ "No! No - I do! I love when you do things like this! They're marvellous, and incredibly touching. It's just that - It's just that - " she breaks off.

"Just that what?" Sherlock asks, voice a tinge desperate and unsure.

Molly sighs, gazing at the floor. That guilt crawls up her oesophagus until it leaves a bitter taste on the back of her tongue. "I can't repay you for these moments, Sherlock. I don't know how to do things like this. These periods where you take the time to show me how much you care - I can't give these back to you. It's unfair, I - "

Her speech stops when Sherlock lifts her chin up until her eyes light on his. "Molly," he says, and just that. Her eyes close and she inhales deeply, before reopening her lids to see his face as he speaks.

"You don't need to repay me. I know exactly how I treated you for six years, Molly. I was cruel - unduly so, and I used you to get what I wanted. That," he intones. "That was unfair. You loved me, always, and I was so afraid to hold responsibility for your heart that I never acknowledged how much you cared for me. My actions were selfish. I'm sorry. But you still love me, and in my eyes that's a bloody miracle. You don't need to repay me; these moments are my repayment. These are for you and you alone. I like making you happy. I like seeing you smile and blush and I like holding you close. I don't deserve your love - not after how I acted - but I'm trying to get to a point where I do. I love you, Molly, with all of my cold, unfeeling heart, and I'm sorry."

 _Oxymoron_ , she thinks, before she sucks in a quick breath and remembers.

_Black, two sugars please. I'll be upstairs._

_Your mouth's too small now._

_You've changed your hair._

_You've put on three pounds since I last saw you._

_That all suggests long-term hopes, however forlorn._

_Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts._

_Show me the rest of her._

_For the sake of law and order, I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly._

_Thank you, John._

_Molly please don't feel the need to make conversation.It's really not your area._

_What could I need from you?_

_Molly, I think I'm going to die._

_You._

_Would you like to solve crimes?_

_You're not being John.You're being yourself._

_Why indeed, John._

_The one person he thought didn't matter was the one person who mattered the most._

_I hope you'll be very happy, Molly Hooper. You deserve it._

_You look well._

_Sorry your engagement's over. Though I'm fairly grateful for the lack of a ring._

_I love you._

_I love you, I love you, I love you, IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou._

_You're beautiful, Molly. I love you, and I'm sorry._

"I forgave you a long time ago," Molly intones. Sherlock remains quiet. She sniffles in the silence, but bears a solemn and honest smile as she brings his forehead down to rest against hers. "You do deserve my love, Sherlock. You always have, and you always will."

His smile wavers slightly, but he takes in a deep breath, and after a second of staring into her eyes, his head descends slowly, until his lips meet hers in a long kiss that draws the very breath from her lungs. They part, and are locked in each other's gaze for an immeasurably amount of time. The firelight dances across his face, reaching like sunbeams to spread gold across his cheeks, sparking in his eyes and star-bursting their colours like a kaleidoscope. Molly touches fingertips to the handsome arch of his cheekbone, pushing them back until they are buried in his curls and her palm moulds to his cheek.

"My love," he sighs, squeezing her close again, and although there is no music, they dance.


End file.
